‘You can always rely on the tides — but a fair wind is a bonus!’

When I retired in 1992 I decided to sample the delights of uncrowded waters by making a mini-cruise in the middle of the week. A reasonable forecast for a couple of days was noted with high tides mid to late morning, so I trundled my Roamer down to Upnor on the upper Medway arriving about 8am. With a moderate south-westerly behind me there was still a fair amount of the ebb to run when I emerged into the Thames Estuary by Sheerness.

My fine fair wind carried me across toward the Maplin Sands and I passed Bun Island and set course for the Swin as I unpacked my lunch. As I did so I noticed something in the water a mile or so ahead of me. Every so often it rose from the surface only to collapse again with a splash. When I got closer it revealed itself as a windsurfer. I wondered where he had launched from as he was some distance from a suitable beach. I had intended to pass about half a mile to port but a look-see was obviously advisable so luffed a little. As I approached an arm was raised so I furled the jib and heaved to alongside. Apparently somehow he had lost his dagger board, had become very tired, ending up by being carried away down the estuary by the tide. He had started from Thorpe Bay near Southend! Having done his best to sail he then paddled towards the sands, but hearing a couple of bangs from the firing range decided it was preferable to risk drowning rather than being blown to pieces. I wasn’t sure that I agreed as the range officer’s binoculars should have spotted him and hypothermia was also a distinct possibility. I suspected this might already be present so did not feel keen on pursuing the discussion and rather bossily ordered him on board my boat which we were able to accomplish by heaving him over the side, being blessed with a stable dinghy. We then furled the windsurfer’s sail and I lashed it over the stern, then returned on course towing the hull behind. Where to land him? I wasn’t keen on the nearest options and they were not necessarily the quickest. All involved working up tide and up wind, but there was also the chance of a search being mounted for him. Should I take him back towards Southend so as to be in the area when they came looking? When I questioned him however, he said that nobody would be missing him as he had taken an illicit day off work to try out his new board.

He was shivering badly so I got him into the cabin — there is only room for one — passed him my Thermos of coffee and sandwiches and told him to dry himself as well as he could and wrap himself in my space blanket which I normally use as a sun awning. I would have liked to have got him into the sleeping bag, but the struggle in the confined space even with the lifting top up would have made this impossible. I lit the stove which soon made the cabin like an oven even with the top of the hatch drawn. He cried for mercy after twenty minutes but was looking a better colour — pink — so I turned it off with relief (this colour of complexion is also a symptom of carbon monoxide poisoning!). This confirmed my decision to carry on to the Crouch.

He dozed off for half an hour but still looked healthy so the only worry I had now was the windsurfer behind as it was surfing down the following waves. After a near miss on the Roamer’s rudder I fastened a length of my anchor warp to the painter. This formed a loop in the water whenever it started its tricks and slowed it up. As the tide slackened so did the wind so our progress began to slow. When he woke up he said he felt better and I got him to pass me out some cheese and rolls as I was feeling a bit peckish without my lunch. After this he joined me outside and we set the cruising chute to give us a bit more speed but even this was unable to draw in the end. We were now close to the mouth of the Crouch so I considered starting the outboard but a light air from the southeast changed my mind and the flood tide had begun so we cut across the end of Foulness Sands and entered the river in style — with a fair tide and another fair wind! My surfer said his brother-in-law would pick him up so I supplied him with some coins for the phone and landed him at Burnham-on-Crouch. Nevertheless his troubles were yet to come — when he made his confession to his wife!

After seeing him paddle ashore I beat back down the river and entered the Roach. Then I had a leading wind up to Paglesham where I anchored and took a short nap myself. After cooking supper I visited the pub in the village. It was nice to find a bit of space there as when visiting it on a Saturday of a rally it can be dreadfully crowded. I had a very pleasant evening as I met a family I knew.

A nice lie-in in the morning after the whisky, and I didn’t weigh anchor until just before high tide. This enabled me to take the ebb out of the Roach, then the Crouch and finally up the coast without worrying about finding the Raysand Channel. The wind was still easterly and light and I made Brightlingsea about tea time. After yarning on the beach with a couple of commercial fisherman, I went and found some fish and chips for my supper, then moved up to one of the creeks by Cindery Island for a few hours sleep. When the clock woke me I quickly prepared my lunch and Thermos. I was hoping to make the Medway in one hop if the weather stayed kind. The wind was forecast SW 3-5 later, but my fishermen had reckoned the easterly would remain for another day or so.

As an easterly wind of about force 3 was still blowing, I took my breakfast in the shape of a mug of tea and a couple of marmalade rolls out into the cockpit with me and dealt with them as I made an offing, using the last of the ebb to take me out through the Wallet Spitway to catch the flood tide down the coast. The wind piped up later requiring a reef, but the off lying sands kept down the seas as I whipped across the mouth of the Crouch and headed for the Swin. The easterly wind now began to give me the same treatment as the south-westerly on the way north — it dropped away steadily — but the tide continued to act as my magic carpet and the buoys came and went in steady procession. The last of this wind and the fair tide just took me across the Thames and into the Medway. As I passed the entrance to the West Swale the wind died but almost immediately the south‑westerly filled in. I began to beat against the ebb. In no time I was forced to reef again and after two days of getting the tides right found myself unwilling to beat on fruitlessly with nine miles to go. I finally decided to run into Shalfleet Creek. There I tucked myself away close to the saltings, in splendid isolation in this normally popular anchorage. I whiled away the hours reading and watching various species of terns fishing, before cooking my supper. The following morning was miserable and blustery and I had to put on my waterproofs for the first time in three days when I beat into the wind-against-tide chop to get upriver to my launching spot.

Not bad — over a hundred miles, mostly with a fair wind — the engine remained unused.